


Death In My Pocket

by Somatic_D011y



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Neil Hargrove's A+ Parenting, Period-Typical Homophobia, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-02 08:45:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20273170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somatic_D011y/pseuds/Somatic_D011y
Summary: After the end of S3, Billy high tails it out of Hawkins, and back to sunny California. He's mildly comfortable and making a new life, far away from aliens and doe eyed boys who ruin his life.. until he gets a call to come back after 5 years away.Will he fall into the same old patterns he did when he was young.. or will Billy make it through this time?(Also, this is my first contribution to this site, and i haven't written in years, really. So any advice and constructive criticism is appreciated, but please go easy and be nice?)





	1. Death In My Pocket

**Author's Note:**

> As the summary says, this is the first thing I've typed up in years. I'm a bit embarrassed with this, but I hope you'll all give it a chance and see where this goes :)
> 
> If there's any interest in the next chapter or so, I'll happily keep at this. This is a plot that's stayed in my head for awhile now, so I finally wanted to get around to making it a reality. Anyways, thanks for reading and as always, comments and kudos are seriously appreciated.

"I got death in my pocket and nothing but time  
All these bones in the closet, in the back of my mind  
I just leave 'em there, I don't even care, no  
Holding up a flare, I could use a prayer, oh  
I got death in my pocket, but I feel so alive"

-Death in My Pocket, Machine Gun Kelly

Billy stared as the low waves tickled at his toes, looking out over the waves of the California beach. He grew up here, but being back, with things put into perspective, was still unsettling at worst, and a strange comfort at most.

He had thrown what he could into the trunk of his Camaro and fled Hawkins, not even 20 days after his recovery in the hospital following the events at the Hawkins mall. He hadn’t been alone up until that point, even a minute to clear his rattled mind. Max had startled him at first, when he finally came out of the induced coma. She had quickly rushed out, “You barely made it..” with her gaze flickering over his bandaged, but still very present, wounds. Before a small smile pulled at her lips. He couldn’t get her to leave him for long after that. Seems nearly dying together created more of a bond than simply living together had before. 

He didn’t have the heart to even give a nod goodbye to the kids, nor Steve. Who, up until that point, just a few months ago, was shimmying out of his bedroom window. He had broken so many things. He couldn’t stand to keep up that old habit. He jotted a quick note to Max, making sure to add that, despite prior appearances, he loved her and would reach out when he could.

Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, he started towards the trusty old Camaro. Flipping open the door and settling in, he began the drive back to his small, shabby apartment. It wasn’t much, but on a mechanics budget, it would do. He parked between his other tenants, Chaz and Chloe. He snorted to himself, musing over how utterly cliché it was that the two 'C's of the place happened to meet and fall in love in this place. They were a nice enough couple, only banging on his door once, when he had the music cranked too loud. Seems even the younger generation didn’t like metal shaking the walls at 3 AM. Other than that, they turned a blind eye to the random men Billy would escort back to his not-so-humble abode, would occasionally leave casseroles by his door, and other niceties. Almost like parents he wished he had had.

As his keys jingled against the lock of his apartment door, he bit into the inside of his cheek at the reminder of his parents. Shaking it off and preferring to bury the thoughts in the 'Lets not fucking go there' box in his head, he stepped inside and half-heartedly slammed the door behind him. 

He shrugged off his half buttoned, dark maroon shirt, slid his jeans from his toned legs, and decided against a shower. Instead, opting to flip against his beat up mattress. He glanced around his bedroom, chaotically covered in posters from punk and metal bands he had seen in the area. His dresser (which was a welcome addition in his sparsely decorated pad, was a gesture of kindness from Chloe.) was a mess. With strewn out boxers, cologne with the top off, and change he had thrown out of his pocket. There was only an old rocking chair, and a small selection of books and old Playboy magazines stacked on a small bookshelf in the other corner of the room. Again, no one would be giving him an award anytime soon for interior design, but it did the job.

The phone hooked up on his kitchen wall started to ring, and with sore and creaky legs, Billy sighed and got up to answer. Propping his elbow against the wall, with the phone to his ear, he asked who was calling.

“Billy.. you need to come home.” Crinkling his brow and retrieving a cigarette from his open pack on the kitchen counter, he lit his cig and in confusion, tried to listen in to Maxs' breathy, shaking voice on the line. “And why’s that? Did that old motherfucker finally drop dead?” he drew in smoke and exhaled on a sour laugh, waiting for at least a small chuckle on the line to soothe his already shot nerves.

“No, Billy. This is..” She stretched the small silence out, sounding like she had been crying by how frail her next words came out. “Billy, it’s Steve. Steve is sick. Really sick. You need to come back, okay? Please.” 

Billy felt his jaw clench, smoke instead billowing from his nostrils as his grip on the phone tightened to a vice. A million and a half memories of exposed skin and breathy pants, of late nights of knuckle presses against high cheekbones, flashed into his minds eye, but he willed them all away with a shake of his golden hair. 

“And just why would I give a shit anyways? Not like we were besties and stayed up every night, braiding each other’s hair or some shit.” He had to force the tiny chuckle from his tight lips, puffs of the cigarette increasing. He could practically hear his sister rolling her eyes and answering him with an impatient huff. “You know why, Billy. We all know why. Just get your ass home.” Followed by nothing. The line trilled with emptiness as Billy stared at the receiver, sliding it back into place and sliding down the wall. Legs jutting out, arms resting on his knees, and the cherry of his smoke in-between his index and neighboring finger, Billy let the news finally crash into him. 

He wasn’t sure how long he had sat there. His legs felt numb and he normally would have laughed at how pathetic he may have looked in that moment, if anyone were to catch sight of him. Sitting alone on a shag carpeted living room, second cigarette in his mouth, in nothing but his boxers.

Giving a sigh, he tipped his head back, and tried to shut his eyes and catch his breath.

“Goddamn it, Harrington..pulling me right back in..”


	2. Became

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm definitely blown away by the positive reception to the last chapter. I know there's maybe just a handful or so that have left kudos and subscribed, but thank you all so much. You've given me a lot of inspiration and words can't say how much it's appreciated. 
> 
> Billy meets up and talks with Max in this one, and has to weigh out whether or not it's worth it to save the man who used to be the love of his life. And constant pain in his ass.

It's not that tragic, it's not a shame  
You're not the hunted, you're not the aim  
You're just another dog with hunger pains  
I was so afraid that you'd become the game  
I forgot to worry about what you became.  
-Became by Atmosphere

This was a mistake. Billy was sure of that much, deep in his gut. How else could he possibly explain giving two weeks of rent to his landlord, giving the update to his neighbors, and throwing what he could into the backseat of his Camaro to drive 32 hours (minus time for food and to recline in the driver’s seat for periodic cat naps) back to Shithole Indiana. All for a boy that hadn’t even attempted to reach out since he left.

Not that you gave him much of a shot, the reasonable side of him whispered. And now he’s arguing with himself. Fantastic. He was just arriving to Maxs' house, gearing up for whatever colossal nightmare she was throwing him back into. When he called her the day after, all he received was a very rushed, “I don’t care how, just get here. I haven’t told anyone else about this and it needs to be you, Billy.” So, he took down her address and told her he’d get there as fast as possible. He just hoped it was fast enough with how cryptic she was acting.

Damn, he thought to himself, looking out at the houses on her block. She must have done well for herself since she moved out of Neil’s. It wasn’t to the level of mega-mansions, tucked away behind gates, but it wasn’t as rough as what he had to contend with on a daily basis. It was the kind of neighborhood you could be comfortable with leaving your front door unlocked. 2907, being a constant reminder and chant in his head. Squinting and peering out of his half open window, he pulled up in front of her place. Some loose Halloween decorations were still up, but just the basics. Some fake spider webs on the oak out front, and what looked like a half dead pumpkin was his greeter at her front door. 

Reaching out and ringing the doorbell, he shifted to from one leg to the other, nervously fidgeting with his backpack. He knew it was stupid to fall into a self conscious pit at that moment, but he hadn’t seen his sister in five years. Imagining her as a grown woman, especially one that could do well for herself like this, made him envious but proud at the same time. God, what’s my fucking excuse then. I’m being outdone by a little girl. When he heard footsteps bounding from the other room and to the door, he flinched as Max threw it wide open and in one foul swoop, pulled him in for a hug. Talk about a welcome home, huh? “Hey, Maxine.” He mumbled into her now cropped hair, with a half smirk. She pulled back at that, eyes raking over his face, down to his wardrobe, and back up again. “Hello, William.” 

Billy groaned and shot his hand up to his chest, clutching at his faded denim jacket. “Ouch, the dreaded first name usage!” he said, which earned him a push against his shoulder in response. “Hey, you did it first, asshole.” 

When they finally sat down in her room (and, admittedly, after Billy stole a peek or two at her digs. Two bathrooms and three bedrooms, but who’s counting?), he sat on the edge of her queen sized bed, with her seemingly deflating against her headboard across from him. His gaze flickered around uneasily, from the computer set up by her closet, to her bookshelf stacked high with comics and what looked like college level textbooks. Her room was bathed in low light and dark shades of purple and red. Guess some things don’t completely change. Hearing a heavy sigh ripped him from his sedentary snooping, and his gaze snapped to a very conflicted looking Max. Fidgeting with her plaid over shirt, she reached into the bedside table next to her. After a few seconds of digging around, she came back with a small Ziploc baggie with a syringe in it. Instinctively scooting away from her, he pointed to the bag. “Whoa, hold on there, I’ve been good. No reason to do all that again.” 

He expected a chuckle. Maybe even an irritated huff at bringing up those harder times. He expected anything other than what she said in return. “It's not like that. This is… well, this is why you’re here, Billy.” Before flinging it in his direction. Carefully picking it up between his fingertips, he stared down at the syringe. It looked as if it had already been used. Repeatedly. “Max, what the fuck does this have to do with Steve?” He watched as she bit down on the corner of her bottom lip, almost holding it captive between her teeth. When she finally met his eyes, she looked like she was going to break down at any second. She timidly explained that she had found it in his bathroom after visiting him for the afternoon. “it was just stashed under his bathroom sink, under some towels. Like he didn’t think anyone cared enough to eventually find it.” She let out a sharp exhale and held her hands together. It would look like a normal gesture to anyone else, but Billy knew Max well enough to see that both her hands were shaking like leaves by this point. 

“You know, Max..” he carefully pushed out, trying not to trip on a conversational landmine, “it's not my business what Harrington does in his downtime. It’s got nothing to do with me. I get why you’re upset, but he’s a big boy. I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Billy made sure to make quick work of inspecting the books on her shelf at that point, not excited to see the look on his little sisters face at his take on it. 

“You’re wrong. It’s got everything to do with you.” 

It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. He heard what she said, but just barely. And when her words finally hit home, they hit hard. Hard enough to almost knock the wind out of him. A fresh reminder of old bruises. Of Steve being thrown from his house. Of Neil raining down his fists like hail over him and Steve both. He knew she was right, he just didn’t want to hear it. It all belonged in that box, way back in the corner of his mind.  
Finally, he settled on wanting to do right by his sister, more than make amends to memories. Ripping off a piece of notepad paper she had on her computer desk, he shoved it in her hands.

“Fine. Give me his address and I’ll fix this.” She stared into his eyes, almost like she was still that scrawny punk brat trying to get a real read on him. He wanted to change that. He needed things to be different this time around.  
“Please, Max. I’ll handle this. Just tell me where he is.” 

Reluctantly taking the crumpled paper, she reached over to the side table, nodding softly. 

“Okay, Billy. Just don’t fuck it all up this time. Don’t hurt him again.”


	3. A Long Hello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy's going to need alot of headache relief, because strung out Steve is going to give him migraines for days. Send good vibes for our cinnamon buns. They're going to need it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a fair bit of work. I'm really trying to stay respectful to this subject matter, while also staying true to who the boys have been and probably would be, given their choices and Canon events. That being said, the next chapter is going to be a time jump back to the dreaded Halloween party. 
> 
> Comments, kudos, etc are my life blood and i love each and every one of you for helping me push ahead. Enjoy!

“Life is just a song; I hope that it's wrong?  
It starts with hello and it goes till I die  
If I did know it all, I'd at least attempt to clarify  
Why we're trying to over emphasize the goodbyes?  
We're trying to over emphasize the goodbyes  
We always emphasize the goodbyes  
So just pretend this is a long hello  
So just pretend this is a long hello  
You can pretend this is a long hello”  
-A Long Hello by Atmosphere

Billy’s keys rattled against the steering wheel, and the cold Hawkins wind beat against his face, blowing cigarette smoke from his open window. He was fighting with the urge to sink into his driver’s seat, soak into the fibers of it, never to return to this life ever again. _Heroin_, he thought grimly to himself, _how the fuck did he manage to pick the one drug of choice that even I avoided?_ He didn’t know how to even process that the fresh, doe eyed mess of a boy he met was now probably wearing thick sweaters and going through a detox in his apartment, alone.

“just clean him up however you need to, Billy. He probably won’t listen to anyone but you, anyways.”  
Maxs' words came back to him as the distance between her place and Steve’s grew further apart. He scoffed and took a long drag from his smoke. _As if that’s even possible. He hardly ever listened to me, even when he was stone cold sober_. From what had been tearfully relayed to him, Steve’s relationship with his parents hardly improved over the years. Just enough for his father to offer him a spot in the family company, and occasional help in the form of rent for his apartment. Other than that, his only gift back was barely staying alive and occasionally calling them to check in.

It wasn’t a swanky place by any stretch, but it was still higher on the food chain than what he had. _Middle class, which is still too low for him, most likely._ Billy schooled his face together, running thick fingers through his still coiled, light hair, while making sure the poker face reserved for Steve and only Steve, was firmly in place. _Show no weakness. It’s just a fucking house call, not a goddamn marriage proposal._ Stretching his legs, he slid out of the car, gazing up at the complex. Here goes nothing.

After three flights of steps and many awkward head nods at Steve’s neighbors, Billy finally made it to his apartment door. 111. He tried pressing his ear to the door, just for preparation and snooping, and heard nothing but the low, muffled sounds of what must have been Depeche Mode. I won’t give him shit for his tastes this time. But my God.. he thought, with a sneer. Raising a fist to the door, he banged on it, rings scraping against the solid wood and causing a jump in response from the neighbor rounding the stairs. Sending the middle aged woman a sheepish smile in response, he was stock still when the door creaked open. And there stood one Steve Harrington.

They stared at each other for a solid minute, both seeming to feel the air exit the building the second crystal blue eyes met warm amber. If he didn’t stare long enough, he would still presume this was the Steve of years ago. Only, with dark bags tucked under his eyes, with longer, tighter limbs, and he looked to be in a desperate need of a trim, his once shining, neat head of hair now resembling more of a punk style. One strand fell in front of his eyes, and he blinked it away, before starting to slam the door in Billy’s face.

“Did you not read the sign? No solicitors. Get out, asshole.”  
“You know,” Billy cut in, jamming his boot between the door and the frame, “Number one, I’m getting really sick of being called an asshole all the time, and number two, is that any way to greet someone?”  
He shoved the door the rest of the way open, helping himself into the apartment. Hands on each of his cocked hips, he took in the layout of a place made for a true king. A full stereo system was against the far wall, tv next to it. Books adorned the desk in the corner by the kitchen, with a leather couch in the middle, on top of a patterned, quilt rug. He had a overhanging deck by the TV, with two patio chairs facing either way. Huh, someone landed a little bachelor pad. _Not too bad, Harrington_.

As he took in his surroundings, Steve had angrily stalked into his kitchen and retrieved a beer for him, muttering under his breath about, “fucking irritating assholes everywhere, just barging in..” Billy popped the can with his ring, finally having just about enough of Steve zipping around and cleaning, his hand fisted into the man’s scruffy hair and yanking hard.

“Jesus Christ, do you mind, Hargrove? I’m trying to at least get presentable, since I didn’t know I’d entertaining literally the biggest pain in my fucking ass.” Billy pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand, sighing deeply and using the other hand to steer Steve towards his couch, throwing him down onto the cushions. “You’re going to sit there like a good little boy scout, Harrington, and you’re going to start sweating out your junk while I bring my bags in, okay? Okay, good talk.” Steve’s jaw slammed shut at that, and Billy found himself staring down at the man who now resembled a kid caught with his hand in a cookie jar. “I-I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but I don’t need you here, Hargrove.”

Billy tutted and grabbed at the man’s jaw, fingers sliding along the bone and tilting his chin up. The man looked like a deer in headlights, eyes flickering to Billy’s lips and resting on them. The air between them was charged with about 6 or 7 years of sexual tension, and every prior word, every ounce of prior pillow talking, arguing, pining, came barreling into Billy as his breath hitched inside his chest._ Fuck you. You don’t get to look at me like that anymore._ Deciding to finally play bad cop, he leaned down, grazing his lips against Steve’s ear, casually pushing back the lock of hair behind it with the tip of his tongue, making sure to brush it against the shell, just the way the man always liked it.

“I don’t fuck junkies,” he whispered, shoving the man back against the couch, watching as his eyes widened to pained saucers. “Get your shit straightened out, and who knows, pretty boy. Maybe I’ll change my mind.”

And with that, he sauntered out to the car to get his bags. He may as well stop by the store at some point, too. He was going to need a lot more Tylenol if he was going to stick this mission out. Harrington was already a giant headache, and it hadn’t even been 30 minutes yet.

_I’m so fucking tempted to kick Maxs’ ass for dragging me back here. Fuck absolutely all of this._


	4. Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy's memories of California come barreling back to him as he bonds with the former king of Hawkins.
> 
> Enjoy some fluff :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a little more time with this one, trying to put some more love into this chapter. This is the first of many time jumps, so I hope you guys like it and it does our boys justice. And also, took some liberties and cut some parts off, but this is more or less how the party should have turned out. Sorry not sorry.

"I've been walking the streets at night  
Just trying to get it right   
It's hard to see with so many around  
You know I don't like being stuck in the crowd  
And the streets don't change but maybe the names  
I ain't got time for the game 'cause I need you   
Yeah, yeah, yeah but I need you   
Oh, I need you   
Oh, I need you   
Ooh, this time.."

Patience by Guns N' Roses

  
Beer still dribbled down his chest as he made his way through the crowd at Tina's party that night. Tommy had pushed him through, yapping like an overexcited Yorkie at his heels. The chants of his name echoed in his ears, but it all faded to white noise as he stood a hair away from the former king of Hawkins.

His eyes wandered over the boys' lanky form, taking in his disinterested looking girlfriend on his arm. Something turned sour in his stomach at the sight of her, Billy turning to meet the intense but covered eyes of the boy in front of him. _Finally_, he thought_, a proper fucking challenge._ Everyone else in this town practically dropped to their knees to lick his boots clean, but this boy was like a tree, firmly rooted in place. Completely unwavering.

Once the distractions around caused the boys to part ways, Billy found himself lingering close by. Not enough to raise any unnecessary questions. He wasn't trying to see if Harrington was okay. He was just keeping an eye on the competition, was all.

About fifteen, maybe 20 minutes later, Billy heard a commotion from the kitchen as Nancy (he was told her name, not like he asked or anything.) stormed through with Jonathon Byers to leave the party, leaving one puppy-eyed Harrington in the wind. Billy's jaw ticked and he fought against his instincts to haul the waif in by her hair and make her apologize to the boy. With a strained groan, Billy reached into his jacket pocket to fetch his pack of reds, making sure to breeze past and grab Harrington by the arm, effectively hauling him out of the backdoor to the yard.

Pulling two from his pack, he lit one and handed it to the flustered boy, who nodded a silent thanks. After a careful silence, Billy allowed himself to look at the boy slumped against the side with him. His perfectly styled hair was looser now, one strand playing peek-a-boo in front of his eyes, and he maintained perfect eye contact with the ground between his shoes. Those sunglasses were tucked into his shirt, which for some reason had almost pulled a grateful smirk to his lips. You couldn't pay someone to look more devastated, which made Billy bite back on any bitter comments about to spring from his throat. There's always a time and place for these things, and even he had moral code..of sorts.

Between puffs in unison, Billy broke the tension.  
"Looks like it's been a rough one, huh?" Steve's eyes shot up to meet his before a hand came up to rub at the back of his neck in an act of self-soothing. A light chuckle broke around the smoke in between his pouty lips, and Billy had to resist a smile in return at the sound.

He found himself staring at the boys' lips, right where the cigarette rested and had to look away when the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. After California, it wasn't wise to gaze for too long at anyone out of the safety net. He knew he was starting to play with fire when the boy tilted his head back against the siding, eyes roaming over Billy's face, before crinkling up with another smile. He had very obviously snuck at least a drink or two before the big blowout. This one even crept up to the corners of those deep amber eyes. Billy let himself relish it, even if just for an extra second.

"Yeah, sure you don't know what it's like but.. girl troubles, you know?" Billy fought against the eye-rolling and met the other boys gaze, trying to still his hand from brushing that goddamn lock from in front of his eyes. "Maybe not the same troubles but.. I get it."

This moment felt too vulnerable. Too raw for his sake. _Maybe my father is right_, he thought to himself, biting down on his tongue at the resurfacing slur practically beating against his skull. _I should be in one of these rooms, getting high and fucking around, like the rest of these guys. Not out here with some stuck up prep who wouldn't give me the time of day unless he was trashed._

He had to turn this around, and fast. He felt his control slipping through his fingertips as the seconds slid by, sky blue still locked against the brilliant amber. He could swear there were even flecks of gold there if he ever got the chance to get close enough for a second appraisal.

Regaining what shred of composure he had left, Billy leaned forward, pressing himself firmly against the boys' side. Warmth was creeping through his chest as his lips touched the shell of Harrington's ear. Biting back the urge to pull him even closer, his breath almost caught and died in his throat.

"Will say, though, a pretty boy like you should have no issue finding better bitches than Wheeler. Her loss."

Pulling back, he continued his drag off his smoke, watching as Harrington shifted in his spot, avoiding eye contact with crimson cheeks and tightly clasped hands in his lap. Running his tongue over his lip, Billy pushed himself up off of the ground and walked towards the back door. He had to remind himself not to look back at the awestruck boy still stuck in the same position.

But through the two hours he stuck around afterward, he couldn't help but think he couldn't quite relax the way he did out there, underneath those stars, with a boy who probably just wanted him to go away.


	5. Running Up That Hill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve tries to gather clarity about Billy's resurfacing in his life.. but isn't exactly mentally there to pull it off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I typed out a whole note before it was lost in the dreaded back button, so I'll have to make this short, just in case
> 
> On the subject matter ahead: I'm trying to be respectful and gentle about the topic of addiction, but addiction is normally neither respectful or gentle, so if this isn't your cup of tea, it's totally understandable and I'm sure you'll find a better work in this fandom. (Especially since almost the entirety of the fandom on here are magnificent writers to whom I could never compare.)
> 
> The next chapter may or may not be a flashback/different POV chapter. Questions or comments on that, as well as kudos, subscribers, etc, are always appreciated and really do well to push me past the dreaded writers block. Thank you all for reading this far and i hope you enjoy :)

"And if I only could,

I'd make a deal with God,

And I'd get him to swap our places,

Be running up that road,

Be running up that hill,

With no problems"

Running Up That Hill- Placebo

  
  


Steve fiddled with the syringe between his fingertips, staring down at his particular favorite vein as it strained against his skin.

His arm would be scarred and sore within a few hours when the high wore off, and he already knew that eventually, he'd have to get better at hiding this. Turtleneck sweaters in the middle of June would raise more than a couple of eyebrows and he just wasn't ready to handle those questions.

He thought of the man who was strewn over his living room couch, stocky legs dangling off of the armrest, looking like an innocent baby in those quiet moments, where the sound of the clock in the kitchen ticked just a little too loudly. It made him drawn to the way the man's face relaxed, eyebrows no longer tightly knit together in intense thought. Made him linger on the way his cigarettes hung on to the break in his bottom lip. Ultimately, it made him look away and become reacquainted with his beige wallpaper when he noticed that the  mans hair was brighter nowadays, with more of a wheat color to the stray strands fanning out against the pillow he was resting on. He was still breathtaking and Steve  _ hated it _ more than anything.

Deciding that enough time had passed and that the coast was clear, Steve tightened his belt around his upper arm, waiting for the familiar rhythm to emanate from his veins, and slowly pushed the tip of the needle past the skin.  _ Ahh, there it is.  _ Giddily taking off the belt, he reached over and placed it on the side of his clothes hamper. He let his hands catch his head, slowly scraping his nails over his scalp, as he let the fog creep in and take the wheel. 

_ This _ . This is what got him up every morning and what tucked him into bed every night. Thinking of the disgust on Billy's face, how he visibly flinched when Steve got too far into that personal bubble, forced a scoff from his throat. He wasn't a junkie by any stretch of the meaning. He got up for work, still called the kids when he could, he still  _ lived _ . He just needed an extra hand living, is all.  _ Not like I bolted with my tail between my legs, all the way to another state. _

Steve hadn't said much when Billy had come back from retrieving his bags from his car. He only let out a startled squawk when the man had thrown two duffle bags onto the empty side of the couch, before striding inside and ordering food  _ like he owned the fucking place.  _

Billy had kicked his feet up, knocking his knee against Steve's, before telling him about this new show that just came out that Steve just  _ had to see. _ Thus began the begrudging marathon of Quantum Leap. 

He didn't ask questions when Steve barely ate any of the pizza, nor did he mention the thin sheen of sweat building on the back of the boy's neck. He just side-eyed him like a hawk but tried to posture like he couldn't care less. But both of them knew better than that. 

The man never once let Steve out of his sight, though. Everything was either already set up in the living room, or would get promptly fetched for him if Steve got up to retrieve anything. He wasn't sure why it bothered him so much, besides the stray thought that now he was  _ that guy _ . 

He had always prided himself on his Independence, or at least, the amount he could have, given his upraising. He would never have to struggle or want for much, but that didn't mean he wanted to repeat the cycle his parents laid out for him. He didn't want faceless, nameless people watching over to him, saying yes to every decision or need he ever had. He wanted to be told, "No." almost as much as he wanted to have the ability to get up and get whatever he wanted for himself when he was denied it. He didn't want Billy  _ fucking _ Hargrove of all people catering to him like he was some invalid. 

Getting up from his spot on the toilet, he crept through the living room to get his Parliaments and walked out onto his balcony. Lighting the smoke and pocketing the lighter, he soaked in the bright lights of the city. It was still chilly enough outside that he wouldn't need a jacket, but it still raised the hairs on the back of his neck and he stifled a groan at the cold chill rolling down his spine. 

Out on the balcony, bathing under the fluorescent lights of the city streets, he felt his mind clear, the weight and tension in his body that normally made him stock-still melted away. He breathed it all in and let it out with a plume of smoke. He only momentarily remembered his father's disapproving sighs whenever he would ask about future grandchildren and with it, the wife. He lived his life with a series of unmarked boxes next to each event, always somewhat hoping that his father would give him the nod of approval. Looking over his shoulder and still seeing Billy's legs carelessly teetering off of his couch, he knew that future wasn't going to be a possibility. 

Sure, Billy had left ghosts in Steve's life in more ways than one, namely when he had run back to California, but now it was inevitable that he couldn't burn enough sage, couldn't find enough dope, and couldn't run far without the man somehow still orbiting him. He would always somehow come back, resembling a snarky tumor that refused to get properly extracted from his body. 

Refusing to snort at the childish visual of Billy as a walking, talking tumor, Steve took another drag from his smoke and then tossed it into the ashtray between the patio chairs. 

Tiptoeing around to the front of the couch, Steve took a moment to finally get a full-on, uninterrupted look at his beloved tumor. Crouching down, he dragged the zipper on the man's boots down, placing them in front of his coffee table, before lightly tucking the man in with his mother's knitted blanket hanging on the back of the couch. Stepping back to appreciate his handiwork, he lightly scolded himself for not even  _ trying _ to sneak a peek at the unmentionables.  _ I just want to see if everything is the same as it was left. That's all. I'm not  _ ** _that_ ** _ desperate.  _

Still feeling the remnants of his mental fog, he cautioned himself to get back to bed soon but found himself immobilized as he peered down at Billy. 

"Stare any longer and I'll have to start charging you by the hour, Harrington." 

Caught between a gasp and an irritated huff, Steve pushed the man's shoulder, storming off to the room in a fit. 

"How do you  ** _still_ ** manage to kill every good moment after five years, Hargrove?! Fucks sake." He called back over his shoulder, before storming down the hall to his room. Once the door clicked behind him, he sagged against the back of it and covered his now cherry face in embarrassment. As if today couldn't get any worse. It was high school all over again and like he  _ needed any of that. _

_ As if I'm not humiliated enough. Now I'll have to hide out in here for the next fucking century or two.  _

This surely called for another hit or two. He felt he owed himself that much for how today went, anyways. 

It's not like it'll hurt anything.

Right?


	6. Cherry Lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felt like toying with another quick little flashback scene with Steve's POV. 
> 
> We get to finally see the real fallout of the Halloween breakup, plus some not so welcome intrusive thoughts of the Billy related nature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made sure to take more time writing this one and editing it, but anyone spots any typos, please clue me in and I'll get to fixing it up :) 
> 
> The next chapter will be picking up where we left of with Steve and Billy during the last chapter. Are these flashbacks any good? Am I doing this alright? Is this thing on? :Taps at imaginary microphone:
> 
> Anywho, comments, kudos, bookmarks and subscriptions all light a helpful fire under my ass to keep this up, so thank you to everyone following this work and showing it some love, and I'll see you all for the next chapter.

"You're such a delicate boy

In the hysterical realm

Of an emotional landslide

In physical terms"

Cherry Lips by Garbage

  
  
  


_ This desk is, like, the perfect kind of cold right now,  _ Steve thought as he tuned out the low drone of his first period English class. Most of the classmates in the front of the room had turned to him once he walked through the door, and he watched as most spun around to carry on the latest gossip of the day. Of course, now it was at his expense. Funny how the tables turn.

_ "Did you hear? Steve's single now."  _ Usually followed by the classic chaser of, "NO WAY." Before whoever was spreading the news carefully twisted all of the details to closely resemble a fucking telenovel. 

Steve couldn't stand the looks burning into the side of his head, the way the crowds in the hallway parted for him as he passed. Couldn't stand wondering where Nancy was and where his thoughts trailed from there.  _ "You're bullshit." _

He grit his teeth as he pulled the hood of his jacket lower over his face, acquainting himself with the grooves and edges of the desk he was currently curled up into. 

The only saving grace, only semblance of relaxation he even had that night was  _ Billy fucking Hargrove, of all people. _ Billy, whose high cheekbones were shaded perfectly under the backyard spotlight.Billy, who had somehow spawned a full series of other not-so-PG thoughts that had his head  spinning that night. Billy, who normally went above and beyond to either harass or downright ignore him. Billy who, for all his fire, all his zest in destroying everything and everyone around him...made that night just a little more than tolerable. Even though he'd rather stick his head into a working oven than  _ ever _ admit that aloud. 

Billy, who  _ of course _ , was assigned the seat right in front of his. It almost seemed like the universe thrived solely off of giving him the cosmic middle finger right when things couldn't go more downhill. 

He was about to straighten up, about to raise his hand and ask to be excused ( _ and truthfully, hide out in the bathroom down at the end of the hall, where he had hoped the floor would open up and swallow him whole _ ) when a tiny, almost nonexistently so, paper landed in between his folded arms.

Quirking an eyebrow and looking around to see if anyone was watching him, he unfolded the letter ( _ all twenty nine times, sheesh)  _ and scanned across. 

** _You can't be a proper king if all you do is mope all the time. Eyes up, Harrington._ **

Scowling and shifting in his seat, he startled a bit as Hargrove peered over his shoulder at him, nodding down to the open letter in his hands.  _ Oh no, where does he get off telling me how to handle my entire fucking life falling apart. _

Taking out his pencil, tucked in the side pocket of his backpack, he made to leave a response. He never liked anyone having the last word and getting away with it. It just always was something that naturally set his teeth on edge.

_ "You have no idea what's going on right now, so can it, Hargrove. I can act however the fuck I want." _

He scribbles furiously, the  pencil almost eating away at the thin, crinkled paper, before dropping it in the collar of the boys leather jacket. Scraping his fingertips against his neck, he watched as Hargrove pulled it back, unfolded it, and read quickly. Seeing the boy shake his head, curls swaying and punctuated by a defeated sigh, only to be pelted by the paper, now folded to represent a football. Flinching and now rubbing the spot in between his eyes, he read the brilliant, sharp letters staring up at him.

** _If you kissed Miss Hoity-toity Stick Up Her Ass with that mouth, no wonder she ran off with freakshow Byers. _ **

Internally, Steve was already seething. If he were living in a cartoon, smoke would be rolling out of his ears by now. He felt devoured by the kind of rage that starts to blur the corners of your mind just a bit, just enough to suddenly notice all the little things that stand out and drive you up the wall on a daily basis that you just  _ ignore. _ Like the fact that no secret, no mood, no opinion and no relationship was sacred in Hawkins. He was so caught up in simmering in this all consuming fuel on his dumpster fire of a life, that he almost didn't notice the smaller, slightly slanted scribbling at the very bottom of the page. Hidden away, almost. 

** _But then again, some of us probably wouldn't mind kissing a foul mouthed sailor with a chip on his shoulder. But what the fuck do I know anyways, right, Your Highness?_ **

And  _ that..that he just had no answers for.  _ He rattled every cage, every filing cabinet, every nook and cranny stashed away in the furthest reaches of his mind, only to come back with words dying on his breath and with what felt like his entire face on fire. 

He had  _ nothing to say back because someone actually stunned him.  _

_ Billy Hargrove, a pretty much constant eyesore on his life.. _

_ Billy Hargrove just rendered him  _ ** _speechless._ **

With a knowing smirk, resembling a cat that ate the canary, Billy let out a soft chuckle in his direction and roved his eyes over his now entirely blank, yet somehow overwhelmed features. The boys head was craned back to keep him still in view, only a curl or two of sandy blond hair obstructing the view. Steve felt his face grow even warmer as the boy slowly, with an almost calculated level of teasing,licked at the divot of his bottom lip, continuing their intense eye contact through dark blonde eyelashes. If he thought he felt warm just a minute ago, his entire body served to almost work as a furnace now. Pressing the heel of his palm against his groin and adjusting himself in his jeans because _ God strike him dead on the spot if anyone was witness to whatever the fuck  _ _ that _ _ was. _

With Nancy now a million miles away in his mind, with his cheeks and neck, creeping down to his collarbone flushed, and with Billy's taunt ringing in his ears, Steve found himself, for the second time in two days, feeling jelly legged and full to the brim with shame.

_ And over Billy Hargrove.  _

_ Fuck. _


End file.
